


The Art of Pretence

by WitchFlame (RachelMcN)



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley is Bad at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is Good at Being a Demon (Good Omens), Crowley is a Little Shit (Good Omens), Demon Summoning, Gen, It's Up for Debate Really, POV Outsider, Summoning, Summoning Circles, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-04
Updated: 2020-05-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24009844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RachelMcN/pseuds/WitchFlame
Summary: Playacting is an essential skill for a demon.Especially when you get summoned by amateur witches with a thirst for power. Luckily, Crowley's silver tongue has always been his most versatile trait.“You wrote the binding wrong,” the demon speaks and she jumps so harshly that her carefully cradled flask spills and smashes against the floor.
Comments: 26
Kudos: 558
Collections: Good Omens, Outstanding Outsider POVs





	The Art of Pretence

**Author's Note:**

> [Russian version](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9843571) voluntarily translated by RinaScaramouche available on ficbook.

The demon is silent as she readies her supplies, its gaze a hot brand against her soul. She has studied for this, she has done her research and now she is ready to put theory into practice. 

“You wrote the binding wrong,” the demon speaks and she jumps so harshly that her carefully cradled flask spills and smashes against the floor. She stares at it in horror. Instead of leaping at her to tear out her throat the demon simply shrugs lightly and tucks its hands into its pockets. She gathers her wits. 

“You lie,” she counters, voice quaking with her doubt, “The summoning went perfectly.” 

The demon smirks, a glint of sharp fangs flashing in the candlelight. “The summoning, sure,” it hisses and the sound reverberates within the walls, “but the binding? That’s a different matter entirely, little witch.” 

She swallows, eyes darting to the painted calligraphy she painstakingly laboured over, seeking the flaw. The demon studies her, slipping darkened glasses from its face to peer at her with orbs of gold. 

“Can’t you see it?” it taunts, “Can’t you read?” Her heart hammers in her throat, her precautionary defence sinking into the floor at her feet. “Illiterate are you?” comes the snickering condemnation, “Mimicking the work of your betters? They record their work with flaws, you know.” It waves the removed eyewear casually through the air, posture relaxed. “Cuts down on competition. Removes the chaff from the wheat.” The lenses tilt towards it as the demon admires its own sickly yellow irises in the reflection. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Nobody has gotten it right for oh...decades.” 

The demons attention drifts lazily back towards her and it frowns at the spillage seeping damp into her shoes. “ _No,”_ its mouth widens into amusement, “Don’t tell me that’s supposed to be holy water.” It cackles when she grimaces, clapping its hands together joyfully. “Oh, nobody has fallen for _that_ gem in ages! Holy _water?_ You’d be as well flicking rain water at a denizen of Hell for all the good it would do you. Go on, give me a laugh, how much more of the useless stuff have you went and hoarded?” 

She pales as it teases her, eyes betraying her as they flick to her stock. It hums contemplatively as it follows her tell, its eyebrows drawing together. “Ah, well,” it sighs, “Least you’re sorted if the utilities ever cut out, eh?” 

She steps back at the mockery, her hand rising compulsively to clasp at the stone around her neck. Its eyes snap to her at the movement, a thin tongue flicking from between its fangs. “What have you got there, then?” it growls, “Hematite? No.” It lifts its head, makes a point of sniffing the air. “Ah, black tourmaline. Maybe not so defenceless after all.” 

Her spine straightens at the concession, as she wills the protective energies of the stone to surround her. She steps around the useless puddle of spilt water, relieved as the demon takes a reflexive step back. This situation is salvageable, she just has to adapt her strategy. 

“I called you here, creature of the pit, to bind you to my will. With these words, I – ” 

“Yes, yes,” the demon speaks over her, “bound to your will, sworn to speak the truth, greatest of agonies to he who disobeys, yadda yadda yadda.” It spins its hand in bored circles before slipping the ears of its glasses back over its eyes, hiding its serpentine slits. “Not that it did the last idiot any good, the words don’t actually mean anything but glad we’ve got that over with.” The demon picks at something between its teeth before apparently swallowing the obstruction and she shudders at the implication. “Anyway, you’ve got the important parts all tied up in there,” it notes, waving dismissively at her careful sigils, “whatever source you found wasn’t _entirely_ a waste, I suppose. Even if you missed the sealing.” It grins nastily. 

She plants her feet and determines it is time to take control of this summoning. “I command you to stay within the circle!” The demon freezes, twitches. 

“Well, bless it,” it breathes out in a rush, “I should have seen that coming, shouldn’t I have? There’s a loophole for you.” The screaming in her head calms down as the demon scowls at its feet, kicking the floor it stands upon. “Yes, well don’t go getting cocky, little witch. It ruins the meat.” 

For the first time since the demon had chosen to speak, she feels powerful again. Even its attempts at intimidation now fall flat. 

“Go on then, _oh great and powerful summoner,”_ it drawls, “what would you ask of your demonic thrall that went and screwed itself over?” The demon kicks the floor once more for good effect. 

“I desire revenge,” she declares, seeing the demon nod along thoughtfully, “and the heart of another.” 

“Ah, cannibalism,” it smirks, as she chokes on the rest of her words, “or just a simple lovers spat? Sticking with the classics, then. Boringly predictable.” 

After a moment to recover, she snaps, “I command you not to harm Thomas Williams!” 

“ _Fine,”_ the demon groans, “his heart will stay in his chest where it belongs. You humans, always getting so metaphorical with everything. You think you’d be more careful when stating your intent.” 

She mulls over this advice before she speaks next, choosing her wording carefully. “I want the man of my desires to fall in love with me, in a manner that appears natural and unsuspicious. I would have you compel him to find me attractive, beautiful, desirable in all ways.” 

The demon holds up a hand and she falters. “Not to interrupt,” it chuckles, “but we _just_ got done being careful with your wording.” 

“Desirable in all romantic ways,” she spits, “don’t be disgusting.” 

“Still potentially problematic I’m sure, but your call,” the demon shrugs. She wracks her brains for the flaws in such a request, chewing her lip. 

“You will compel him to find me attractive, beautiful and...mentally stimulating.” 

The demon stares at her as she desperately waits upon its judgement. “Clever,” it corrects, “the word you’re looking for is clever. Forget it, I’ve got the intent. What’s the revenge part?” 

Hot, furious rage ignites in her chest. “I command you to slaughter that _bitch_ he’s currently with!” 

The demons slips its hands back into its pockets, rocks back on its heels. “I mean, I guess. Don’t see why you had to call up a demon to get rid of a dog, though.” 

“His _girlfriend,”_ she all but shrieks, “Sandra, the two-timing, backstabbing little monster!” 

“Ah,” the demon nods sagely, “that makes more sense.” 

Breath rushes out of her, relief at finally getting all of this out in the open. “She _knew_ I had a crush on him,” she mourns, “My best friend and she turns around and does _this_ to me!” 

“Wow, friends right,” the demon snorts dryly, “One goes off with the guy of another’s dreams and the other summons a demon to murder her horribly. Only way it could end, really.” 

She hugs her arms around herself, sniffing. 

“Or you could, I dunno, pick up a phone?” the demon prompts, “Why do you have to go and drag me into your little romantic spat?” 

Determination solidifies within her as the demon questions her will. “I’ve told you what I want,” she orders harshly, “I command you to fulfil the will of your summoner!” 

The demon shuffles in place. “Er...” 

“What?!” 

“Well, you know, I’d love to follow your command and all. Great love of slaughtering and false lust, me. It’s only,” the demon waves its hand pointedly at a cluster of runes, “they don’t make it easy, do they?” 

She glares at the runes and back at the demon. “What are you talking about?” she demands. 

“Well, they’re blocking my powers, aren’t they? I would just step out of the circle but seeing as _somebody_ wants me to stay in among all of the truth bindings, etcetera, etcetera, you’re going to have to do something about those markings if you want me to go ahead with this.” 

She growls in frustration, so close only to be thwarted. Grabbing her calligraphy set she storms around the side of the circle only to hesitate, squinting up at the demon suspiciously. 

“What?” it hisses back at her, fidgeting. One of its hands slips out of its pocket to start scratching at its chest. “Bloody binding punishment,” it mutters, “Look, just draw a tail on that squiggle there. All it takes is a simple line to attach it to that curve here. Obedience. Power. Connect obedience to power and hey presto, powered commands.” It points out the relevant markings as it speaks, clearly starting to struggle with its inability to follow her orders. She watches it for a minute as the fidgeting gets worse before she decides to release it from the compulsion and allow it to fulfil its obligation to her. 

Her brush has barely touched the second symbol before she feels the collar of her jumper pull tight around her throat as she’s pulled up by the scruff of her neck. 

“Now that was very silly,” the demon purrs in her ear, “Look at that, you connected the wrong sigils. Didn’t we confirm earlier that you were illiterate?” 

Her heart jumps into her throat as she scrambles for her necklace, clutching her fingers around the stone and shoving it in the demons face. At this close range, she can see its eyes cross behind its tinted glasses as it tries to focus on the little stone. “Yes, well done,” it mocks, “I’m fairly sure I wouldn’t be able to curse you with bad dreams while you’re wearing that. Wouldn’t have been my first choice anyway.” 

The stone falls away under numb fingers, bouncing against her clavicle as terror rapidly spreads through her bones. She’s dragged to the side of the room, flung into the corner. Her lungs struggle to expand, to draw in enough air to stop her head from spinning as she flattens herself up against the wall. 

“I command you not to harm me!” she pleads, feeling the tell-tale sting of tears prickling behind her eyes. 

The demon crouches down in front of her as she squeals and tries to make herself smaller. “Now, I think we both know that’s not going to work,” it hisses, “I don’t much appreciate being summoned at the beck and call of little witches too inexperienced to know their sigils from their glyphs.” Its tongue flicks between its gaping jaws, drawing attention to fangs she swore were shorter just a minute ago. “So here’s what’s going to happen. You’re going to lay off the occult hobby and deal with your problems the human way, or I’m going to know about it and you will not enjoy how I decide to solve the issue you present.” 

Nails dig into her palms as she nods frantically. “Yes, sir, I’ll – I’ll stop right away, Mr Demon, sir.” 

“See that you do,” it growls, “and one more thing. I was recently given a very forceful command not to harm a human by the name of Thomas Williams and the way I see it, going after somebody he cares for would certainly cause him emotional distress, wouldn’t you agree?” She bites her lip and nods along, the tears leaving creases of salt along her cheeks. “As a sentient entity with the ability to, shall we say, _interpret_ my orders generously, you could say that letting a known threat go free could be considered an act of harm against his person.” She can barely see through the tunnelling terror. “Now, that wouldn’t do at all. So I’m going to need a binding promise from you, that you will not so much as look in their direction from this point on. Thomas Williams and Sandra are no longer your concern; you will cut all ties and move across the country if you have to, but you. Will. Not. Endanger them, in any way.” The demon leans a finger against its glasses, tilts them down so she can observe the full force of its golden glare a hand-spans width away. “Is that understood?” 

“Yes,” she squeaks, “I swear, I promise, I’ll stay away from them!” 

The demon stares into her soul, judging her and she feels certain it’s about to change its mind and eat her. It pushes its sunglasses back into place and unfolds back to its feet, towering over her. “Ugh,” it spits, looking around, “what have you been doing to this ugly thing?” It stalks away from her, hooking the edge of her sage’s plant pot with its finger and tipping the entire thing towards itself. She’s still shaking so badly she could swear the plant is just as terrified. “I’m taking this,” it declares, pinching the edge of the pot and plucking it from its home among her crystals, never-mind that half the books she read mentioned the plants repellent properties. It stalks towards her door, pausing before the exit to spin on its heel and point its free hand warningly at her. 

“ _Behave.”_

She collapses in on herself as it leaves, gulping for air, sure her heart is about to burst out of her chest. 

Crowley holds the potted sage at arms length as he descends the stairs, studying it critically. The leaves rustle appropriately at his mere presence. “She better not have fed you holy water,” he hisses threateningly, “you get rid of that right now, if she has. Idiot child. Going around summoning demons and thinking you’d be any good at helping. She should have dried and smoked you if she had any sense.” 

The plant shakes in acknowledgment of this statement with the very strange feeling that it will be far better off under this demons care. 


End file.
